


A Proper Family

by barghest



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dogs, Family History, Gen, Implied Historical Violence, like its implied things have happened in the past that weren't very nice ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham has been in love with dogs since he was a small child, so it makes sense that he starts to collect them as an adult. A collection of short stories on how he came to have each of the six dogs that become part of his family before Winston.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Family

**Author's Note:**

> yo sorry for not postin a ton lately  
> anyway! somethin a little different this time. i found a few good clear photos of the dogs who play will's family (thanks bryan fuller's twitter!) and kinda dropped some names on them all, and wrote about how he came to have each of them. for the record, all of will's dogs are mutts and therefore any allusions to breed just refer to what i (as someone who has spent many years owning/being around dogs) can infer from their appearance and think might be part of what they are. ive got a labelled photo of the dogs somewhere if you struggle to work out which ones each of them are? just send me a message or comment or w/e, whatever works best, yknow.  
> otherwise, enjoy!

Will's first dog is called Lindy. It's short for Lindy Hop - both for the twenties era dance style that developed in Harlem, and for the fact she only has three legs. As an eighth birthday present, Will's father gives in to his son's requests for a dog, providing they get an older one. No puppies. She was the only dog in the pound not barking enthusiastically at the visitors and shoving her nose through the front of her cage. Will picks her because she's asleep when he approaches her, soft white fur rising and falling rhythmatically as she chases rabbits (or deer, or other dogs) in her dreams, and one eye opens to view the curly haired boy croaching down outside her enclosure. Her paws twitch slightly, but she stands up and hobbles over, front right leg a stump at the elbow.

"Please don't put your fingers through the bars," the sign reads, "Lindy may bite." Will pokes his fingers into the enclosure, and Lindy's tongue gently washes them, poking between each one.

Lindy is at least mostly German Shepherd, and Will isn't very tall when he is ten, and she leans on him when her remaining front leg starts to hurt a little. She woofs quietly into his hands when his face gets all crumpled and weepy, and that one time he chucks his glasses across the room in frustration, she hops over to the couch and digs them out from underneath, ferrying them back to him. (Will buries his face in her neck and she thumps her tail gently on the carpet of Will's living room, shedding white hair everywhere.) When Will's feet twitch in loneliness in his sleep, she crawls up onto his covers and puts her paw on his face, wet nose snuffling worriedly at his neck until he wakes up and lets her underneath the blankets. And every day, she hops down the porch steps and across the yard, around a boat engine or two, to greet him when he comes home from school.

She makes life a lot more bearable.

\--

Herc shows up at Will's door on his twenty sixth birthday, a straggly little puppy-like creature, brown and white with floppy little ears and a dry nose. He's sickly and weak, and crawls along on his belly to gnaw on Will's foot when Will comes to collect his paper. When he feels Will's hands gently touch his sides, he turns his attention to the big human's sleeves and nibbles away at the fabric until he is lifted up and carried inside. He chews a hole in Will's dressing gown, little teeth pulling at the seams, until Will offers him a little piece of chicken and he almost takes the man's fingers off.

A vet check confirms he is malnourished and devoid of a microchip. No one is looking for a small Jack Russell cross, with ears that fold forward when he spies food coming and a slightly bent nose. Will lets him run in the yard when his ribs have disappeared under a layer of puppyfat and good dinners and quiet nights using Will's chest as a pillow. Will scritches him behind the ears before breakfast every morning, feeding him little bits of crispy bacon alongside his dry dog food. It doesn't take long for Herc to start looking like a sturdy little dog again - and still no one claims him. He parks himself in Will's dirty washing and licks Will's plates clean and makes Will's home his home too.

Will calls him Hercules - Herc for short, much easier for a dog to remember - because he's a strong little beast. Even when he was skinny and bony, he was always trying hard, and he keeps trying harder. It takes a while to get him into shape, but Will spends that winter digging Herc out of snow drifts as he dives in after small animal, dusting snow off the little dog's fleece-lined coat he gave him for Christmas, and watching Herc launch himself after snowballs, little tongue dancing in his mouth. He puts those teeth to good use on sticks and dog chews and lightly pressing his teeth into Will's hand worriedly when Will sweats his way through a nightmare. The company is much appreciated.

\--

Lincoln's coat is curly like Will's own hair, only off white in colour and slightly matted where he hasn't been brushed in a while. Jack Crawford - not so weighty as when he introduces Will to Doctor Lector, not so well dressed either - gingerly hands the lead over, avoiding looking at the grumpy little face staring up at him. The stars peek through the clouds up above and shine gently in Lincoln's eyes.

Jack lamely says he found him by the side of the road, and that Will was his best bet at this time of night.

Herc swans out from behind Will's legs, confident in his reign of the household for the last year or so, eager to meet the new arrival. The dirty thing on the lead backs up a little, face wrinkling a little in distaste as Herc tries to touch noses, tensing up as Herc continues sniffing his body. Will crouches down, resting his weight back on his heels, to inspect the animal and extends one hand out how. Lincoln sniffs it, nose twitching suspiciously, before nosing his way into Will's fingers. (She doesn't have any name tags or anything, Jack displays he doesn't know an awful lot about dogs. He makes a small "oh" when he's informed he has brought Will a boy dog, not a girl.) Herc puts little wet feet on Will's slippers and chews on Lincoln's lead in approval of the new arrival.

"Would you give him a name for me?," Will's head tilts forward a little, grey eyes watching Jack from over his glasses. Jack grunts a little, before pulling the Lincoln out of thin air and shrugging a confirmation on his choice. It takes a couple of months - and a dozen good baths, and a dozen sleepy pettings, and a dozen nicked pieces of bacon - for Lincoln to fit his name, and start batting Herc back when the brown and white dog wants to play. Will figures they will get on just fine.

\--

George is fat. If he was a human, Will would have to describe him as portly - a fatty tank of a dog with a bullish expression, like he's not quite sure what's going on and how angry he should be, and no front teeth. His belly is a little scarred - mostly claw or teeth marks - and his fur worn from an ill fitting collar that looks like it is digging into the folds of his neck.

Will gives the man - tall and smokey and splintered, like a piece of burnt driftwood in shabby jeans and a leather jacket - fifty dollars for George (then called Bonesplitter).

The second he lumbers his way into the back of Will's car, Will removes his collar and gently massages the damaged skin where it had been cutting in. The skin is raw, and Will's face crumples in on itself into a frown. From the front passenger seat, Herc makes a concerned noise and wiggles through the gap in the seats to meet George. Immediately, the big dog whines and shrinks back on the seats, pressing himself against the faux leather. Unperturbed, Herc presses his nose against George's shoulder, sniffing his pelt and wiggling his tail (and, consequently, his whole back side) enthusiastically. George pins his ears back and lies down, tucking his paws over his slightly squashed snout. By the time, Will pulls his car up alongside his house, Herc has fallen asleep on George's back and Lincoln has scrambled over to flop on the big dog's legs.

George himself looks a little nonplussed.

Will throws names at him for a few days - Charlie, Jack, Frodo, Smaug for that terrible dogbreath - but George doesn't respond to any of them, just furrowing his brow at his foodbowl which seems (to him) to contain less food than he requires. His skin begins to clear up after Will gives him a few baths, hefting the furiously wiggling dog into a tub of warm soapy water on the porch. (Will comes away from most of those experiences soaking wet and with his glasses steamed up.) A cream from the vets helps aid the healing, and after a while George's slobbery tongue wakes Will up in the morning when he's sleepcrawled his way half off of the bed. His paws are big, but he looks friendlier, and when Will turns to him one Sunday afternoon and calls him George, his ears prick up.

\--

Lucy is found rummaging through Will's trash - well, more accurately, stuck inside one of the bins when she fell in and couldn't get back out again. Her low whining attracts Lincoln's attention and he, accompanied by the now more healthy bulk of George, trots off around the outside of the house to investigate the noise. A flurry of excited barking launches Herc off of Will's lap, and Will drops the phone - not that he was really doing anything important, in his opinion - as little claws dig into him. The twenty nine year old rises from the couch and follows the racket outside, to find George has overturned one of the trashcans and Herc is busily investigating a creamy dog with a curly tail and a slight snarl. She snaps at his shoulder and he backs off a little.

Will wades through the group, careful not to step on anyone's paws, and shoos them away gently. Lucy stands straight and defiant, staring down (well, up) the sleepy human stood before her. He offers her his hand and she sniffs delicately, ears flicking a little in interest. Will delves in his pockets and pulls out a couple of dog treats, holding them out. She takes them, teeth nipping at Will's fingers in her eagerness to devour the offering.

For the first few nights, Lucy sleeps alone, curled up under the kitchen table.

She's named by Alana Bloom, who had been on the phone trying to work out what Will wants for his thirtieth birthday when Will found the dog. In fact, it gives Alana a good idea - a week later, in time for Will's birthday, four dog beds of varying sizes and colours show up on Will's porch. Lucy immediately claims the green and blue plaid one, flopping herself down on it when it is placed at the foot of the bed. She refuses to have her ears touched and dodges Will's hand when it approaches her head, but in her own little dogbed she lets him stroke along the back of her neck and along her spine. Her nose twitches when he offers her a little chicken as a reward and she accepts it gently, gracefully. Lucy no longer flashes her teeth when the other dogs come near, and one morning in the late spring, Will finds her letting Herc curl his little paws and floppy ears up in the bed with her.

\--

Fly reminds Will of the neighbors he had when he was in kindergarten. Their sheepdog was black and tan and white, mottled around the jaws and pulled far too hard to be walked in just a collar. One time, they accidentally let it go and it knocked him over. (He cried the whole way home.) The main differences are that she's thin and nursing two small - yet almost at weaning age - puppies inside a flimsy cardboard boxing, nosing them closer to her body for the warmth of her matted coat. Will spots her when she is out searching for food, and he is out doing the same.

He hesitates in the snow, before crouching down a few feet away from the animal, holding out a piece of beef from his Chinese. She watches him for a few moments, belly pressed close to the ground before edging closer. Will waits patiently for her to make the crawl across, holding out the beef in hands that are beginning to shake. Fly accepts the food tentatively, as if afraid of hurting him, and Will digs out more from the container for her. As he feeds her more, her tail starts to thump weakly against the snowy ground and her ears perks up a little. Will fishes a lead out of his pocket and loops it round her, intending to take her straight back to his car, but she tugs him in the opposite direction. Abandoning the rapidly cooling Chinese food, he follows her in a crabwalk until she arrives at her cardboard home and gently pulls out the two puppies with her teeth.

Will hesitates for only a moment - before shrugging off his fleecy jacket and wrapping them within its folds, turning back to the car with Fly trotting anxious at his heels. He warms them by the stove back home, spreading the jacket out on his kitchen floor. The rest of the pack - which he has started to affectionately call his family - approaches curiously, snuffling the floor in the direction of the new arrivals. Fly tends to her puppies, watching them grow stronger and start to show an interest in the pieces of chicken she gets fed whenever Will cooks it, and Will names her after a book character who is just as motherly as her.

He is aware he can't keep the puppies.

"Jess" and "Luke" are given to the best homes Will can find, and the families adore them - adore these mutt puppies who furiously wag their tails around chicken and enthusiastically wash their owners' faces with their tongues. Fly is content to remain behind, her shaggy coat clean and unknotted from Will's attention. Occasionally, when he gets too rowdy, she calmly picks up Herc like a puppy and carries him away - much to his displeasure.

\--

Whitefang - although the brown on his ears ensure he isn't the real thing - is hiding under Will's car when he finds him. He doesn't like thunder and he is equally not fond of lightning, Will discovers when the dog shakes under his bed covers during any storm. He spends a lot of time fondling the dog's ears gently and reassuring him quietly with his voice, cheek pressed against the dog's chest. (He finds reading short passages of fiction texts in a low voice works very well, and manages to read most of the dog's namesake's novel within the first year of owning him.) Whitefang is kind of nervy in general and he crawls all over the thirty three year old like a small child whenever he feels distressed. Like Lindy, he woofs quietly and pushes his muzzle into Will's hands when he is seeking attention.

Will checks the missing pets section of the paper often, and a message calling for the return of 'Baxter' (who's description fits Whitefang exactly) to a family. He calls the number reluctantly and hits the voicemail twice, the second time leaving a mumbled message about having found him. Whitefang whines around his legs, and the other dogs worry quietly. Eventually he gets a call back, only to be informed that they have already got the dog back. Will squints a little into thin air, but accepts it. Herc bounces at his feet a little, as if he can sense the relief.

In the summer of the next year, Will takes the family on a long hike through the woods surrounding their home. He brings bags of dog food and chicken and beef, forging forward every day until they find a small stream or an interesting rock formation to explore. One day, George brings back a rabbit, bearing it proudly in his mouth. He is praised, ears scratched and fed the finest part of it, whilst the rest of the family mill around hoping for a share. An hour or so later, Whitefang disappears into the mist, padding away into the evening light. Will searches frantically for him but has to give up as night rolls in. He flops down in defeat, the family draping themselves over him in consolation.

The next day, Whitefang comes back, hauling with him a deer.

\--

It's a couple of quiet years until, one night, Will is cruising along the road - thoughts somewhere else completely - and spies something on the road beside him. He slows down along side the animal, its claws clicking on the tarmac, tail waving aloft behind it. Eventually, he coaxes it into the back of his car - where it sticks its nose into every corner, snuffling at some of Lincoln's shed hairs or where Fly usually sits - and drives it home. It is patient all through the ritual bathing, letting him pour water over the back of its head and swirl his soapy fingers through its muddy coat. Drying it off, he deposits the dog safely in the crate he bought for introducing new members. The rest of the pack, led by a slightly aloof Lucy, ventures out onto the porch, arranging themselves for the best view of the dog in the cage. Damp chested, Will straightens up, and gestures between them and his latest acquisition.

"Winston, meet the family."


End file.
